Stuck on You
by MeganQueenOfScots
Summary: Lily Evans is determined to be the first strong-willed person in her family in living memory. Even though she may have feelings for James Potter, she won't give in. Can James make her change her mind?


**A/N: Hellooo! I'm baaaaack! And for some reason, I'm exaggerating vowels. Hmm. Well, anyway, this is just a fluffyish one-shot that I thought of when I was doing the dishes and wrote in about an hour. (Please note that I come up with WEIRD ideas when I'm doing the dishes.) This is something to tide all my lovely readers over until I finally get around to finishing and posting the second chapter of "The Parkway Diner". Sorry if you don't like it, but I do so I'm going to force it on you. Muahahahaha....etc.**

**Anywho, as per usual, I don't own Harry Potter (not even his parents), Pride and Prejudice, or The Princess Bride. I wish I were cool enough to own any of them, but, alas, I'm not. I only own the cheesy plot.**

*** * ***

I come from a family of pushovers. I am not proud of it, but it's the truth.

My mother fell into my father's arms on Valentine's Day after he presented her with a candy heart bearing the inscription "Stuck on You", a story my mother repeats without fail every Valentine's day. In their twenty-three years of marriage, I don't think my parents have fought once. My sister was slightly more rebellious; she told the guy she's currently dating that she'd have to think about going out with him before calling him five minutes later with her "yes".

Ever since I was old enough to recognize my family's spinelessness, I was determined not to be a part of it. And that is why, in my third year at Hogwarts, I first told James Potter no.

I felt badly about it; it wasn't fair for him to suffer because of my resolution to be different from my family. After all, I knew of no real harm in him. He was popular, funny, rather intelligent, good at Quidditch, and definitely not bad-looking. In fact, I made up my mind to watch him more closely, and then maybe reconsider my answer.

What I observed was not a heartbroken, dejected boy. I saw a side of him that didn't appear on first glance. I saw the cold looks and occasional curses he gave members of the Slytherin house for no good reason. I saw the way he thought he was above everyone else, his mocking treatment of younger students, and his utter disregard for the rules. And what's more, I was convinced that he never really liked me. Oddly, I was convinced of that by his constant application for my consent to go out with him. He never looked upset when I told him no, just shrugged and returned to whatever it was he was doing. And I hated that.

Call me vain, but I didn't like it that he could just go on with his business without a care in the world when I'd just rejected him. I knew I couldn't mean anything to him. When I thought about it, I realized that that was okay. Because after what I'd seen of him, I was sure he was the last boy in the world I could be prevailed upon to go out with.

Years passed. I dated other boys, but he never dated anyone. That struck me as odd, but I never cared enough to think about it. The most likely explanation was that he thought no one was good enough for him.

I grew more confident in my hatred of him. When he asked me out—a weekly occurrence, at least—I gravitated from just refusing, to insulting him. He became angry at this, but it was only in our sixth year that he began to look disappointed, as well.

Sixth year passed, and seventh arrived. I was pleased to learn that I was the new Head Girl; not so much that Potter was my counterpart. I dispassionately anticipated ceaseless rows, my public humiliation for having such a dysfunctional partner, and a general breakdown in law and order at Hogwarts. You can imagine my surprise when that turned out not to be the case.

Apparently, over the summer, Potter had grown a brain to go inside his enlarged head. He stopped taunting first years and Slytherins, took time to do his homework, and stopped asking me out altogether. Overall, I was pleased with his transition, and began talking to him more and more. We formed a sort of working friendship, which developed into general care and concern for each other. Often, he was the only person I could confide in. I cried against his shoulder for hours when I received word about Mary MacDonald's parents, who had been like parents to me as well.

But really, I began to miss the old James, who could make me smile with one of his stupid jokes or burn with anger at his careless assurance. When I thought about it, most of my emotions for six years at Hogwarts were caused by James Potter. Sometimes, I even missed his asking me out constantly, and sometimes I thought there was a possibility I would say yes.

No. I could not be won that easily.

* * *

It was the day before Valentine's Day in my last year at Hogwarts, and I had just received a letter from my mum. I was settling in an armchair in the Heads' Common Room to read it when James entered the room.

"Hi, James," I greeted him, slitting open the envelope.

"Hey, Lily," he responded slinging his bag onto the table and then flopping on the couch. "Letter from your mum?"

"Yeah," I replied, scanning the first paragraph. "Oh, well I'm blasted if she didn't tell that story _again_."

"What story?" James inquired curiously, shoving a pillow behind his head so he could look at me.

"Her 'Stuck on You' story. She tells it every Valentine's Day. Before she and my dad started dating, he gave her a candy heart that said 'Stuck on You', and she was won over just like _that_," I explained, snapping my fingers for emphasis. "Spineless, the lot of them," I added more softly.

"Yes, that _does_ seem a tad cliché," James mused. Pre-transition James would not have known the word "cliché". "But it worked, nonetheless." He chuckled. "Are you sure you're not adopted? No one who knows you could possibly call _you_ spineless." He mimicked a high, girlish voice. "'No, James Potter, I won't go out with you! Why don't you just keel over and die, because at least then you'd decompose and do some good in the world!'"

"I never said that!" I protested. Actually, though, I'd lost track of all the different things I'd said to James over the years. The possibility that I had said something that awful made me deeply ashamed.

James shrugged. "Maybe not, but you never minced words in telling me I was the most inadequate, self-deluded, moronic son-of-a-Bludger you'd ever had the misfortune to encounter. I believe you even quoted _Pride and Prejudice_ once or twice…. 'Are the shades of Gryffindor House to be thus polluted?'"

I was quite sheepish about my past offences, but was also impressed that he had recognized the quote, and I told him so.

"Well, I saw you reading it, and I read it to see what it was about," he explained. "I sort of like that Darcy character."

"Me too," I agreed, while secretly wondering if there was no end to James's surprises. I sighed. "Why didn't you ever give up on me?" I asked. The question had been burning inside of me for a long time. "You could've had any girl in the school; why me? Why did you keep putting yourself through that?"

James considered me for a moment. He took off his glasses, wiped them on his shirt, and put them back on before answering.

"You know that phrase 'If you love something, let it go'? I always had trouble with that."

_If you love something….if you _love _something…._Did that mean….did James….

I opened my mouth to say something—I didn't know what, but _something_—when James hopped off the couch.

"Well, it's getting late, and I'm going to hit the sack. 'Night, Lily," he said, and then he was gone.

I went to bed soon after, but I didn't sleep. Thoughts tormented me, keeping me awake. _He didn't mean_ that_, that's just how the saying goes. It doesn't say 'If you have a crush on someone even though she hates your guts, let her go'. It's all a misunderstanding. He can't mean _that_. He _couldn't_ mean that. He couldn't love me. There's no way._

When I eventually drifted to sleep, it was fitful. I kept hearing his voice echo in my head. I awoke much earlier than usual, and with a firm conviction. _It's going to be an interesting Valentine's Day…._

* * *

I never succeeded in going back to sleep after that. Instead, I pulled on a thin pink sweater and a grey woolen skirt and went down to the Heads' Common Room to work on a Potions essay that was due the following week. It was difficult enough to concentrate on how one could build up a resistance to iocane powder with about two hours of sleep total, and thoughts of James were not helping matters.

I checked my watch; it was six-fifteen, not nearly late enough to reasonably go down to breakfast. Abandoning the Potions essay entirely, I shoved it back in my bag and threw myself on the couch as I'd seen James do the day before. I really wanted to talk to Mary, but she would end my life if I woke her up that early. I fetched _Pride and Prejudice_ and began reading, but even my favourite book couldn't engross me. Banishing it back to my bag, I stretched and let my thoughts absorb me.

About an hour later, I heard James open his door, and a minute after that the shower turned on. I bided my time, resolved to go to breakfast with James.

He always took short showers, and today was no exception. Soon after it had turned on the water was off again, and in a matter of minutes James was coming down the stairs. Even though it was still damp, his hair was already sticking out every which way and it made me smile. I wondered how I could've been irritated by it.

No. I could not be won that easily.

"Good morning," I said, sitting up.

"Well, look who's a morning person today!" he teased. Frequently he had to wake me up so I would have enough time to eat.

"I didn't sleep too well," I admitted. "Shall we go to breakfast?" I asked, before he could ask why I hadn't slept well.

"We shall," he grinned, and accompanied me downstairs. We chatted pleasantly on the way about everything from who had rounds that night to our favourite ice cream flavours. All the while, though, I was having a battle with myself because for the first time, I wanted to give in. I knew that the old James was still there; in fact, old and new James really were the same person, and I had to admit that I felt something for him. There was no denying that. I didn't know if it was love, but why else would his description of fudge ripple ice cream send tingles down my spine? I've had fudge ripple ice cream, and it doesn't do that. There was also that way that he touched my arm that made my heart thud.

Yes, I was quite possibly in love with James Potter. But I couldn't tell him. I couldn't. I wasn't even sure about it. And anyway, was I really that weak, to just give in?

By this time we had reached the Great Hall. I made my way to my usual seat, and James took a seat across from me. _It's Valentine's Day._ The fluffy pink decorations everywhere made that irrefutable. _I have to tell him. But I can't._

As I sat down, I opened my mouth to say something to get my mind off of this. However, as soon as I sat, I was greeted with an extraordinary sight. Tiny, colorful objects were falling from the ceiling above me. They fell to the table, the bench, the floor….everywhere but on me. As they fell, I realized that they were candy hearts. I picked one up. It read "Stuck on You". Every heart I looked at said the same. This could only be James's doing. I looked up, but James was gone. Instead, he was standing behind me. I stood and turned to face him.

How I wanted to tell him I loved him! But then, I would be every bit as much of a pushover as my mother. Tears pricked my eyes. This was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do.

"I thought it might be a bit more romantic with about a thousand of them," he said, smiling that crooked smile of his.

No. I could not be won that easily.

I could not.

Then he wordlessly held out three more candy hearts. The first said "Be Mine", the second, "I'm Yours".

The third read "I Love You".

And I, stoic, stubborn Lily Evans, fell into the arms of James Potter.

**FINIS.**


End file.
